


The air humid, the fire hot

by solarfemm



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Canon Temporary Character Death, Demons, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Steve is small Steve and Bucky died at Krausberg, i don't even know what this is, i guess, monster fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-13
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-10-17 10:42:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20619698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solarfemm/pseuds/solarfemm
Summary: Steve wasn’t scared when he summoned the thing and he’s not backing down now. The fact that the demon looks like Steve’s dead best friend doesn’t scare him; it makes him furious.





	The air humid, the fire hot

**Author's Note:**

> Steve fucks a demon to bring Bucky back to life. All you monster fuckers are welcome.

There’s a faint smell of rotten eggs about him and Steve should be wetting himself that he’s close enough to smell it, that the demon is crowding him, but Steve wasn’t scared when he summoned the thing and he’s not backing down now. The fact that the demon looks like Steve’s dead best friend doesn’t scare him; it makes him furious. 

“You rang?” The demon even sounds like Bucky. He’s got Bucky’s muscles and Bucky’s eyelashes and Bucky’s hands, Bucky’s smell even, that expensive cologne and the smell of the grass in Prospect Park, and he’s wearing Bucky’s slacks and suspenders, but it’s not him. Steve misses him so badly he aches.

“Yeah, I did.” He refuses to be scared. Bucky wouldn’t want him backing down to a demon. 

Bucky wouldn’t want him to be doing this at all, but Steve needs to do this. He can’t let Bucky die like that, taken from him, left bleeding to death in the mud and shit of a battle ground while Steve was at home, unable to fight a war that was never Bucky’s. 

“Well, what does a fine lookin’ fella like you want with little old me?” The demon’s eyes are shaped like a cat’s, glinting in the light from the lone street lamp above them, and Steve focuses on that instead of what the rest of him looks like. 

Steve keeps his chin up. “I need you to bring him back.”

The demon rolls his eyes. “Oh sugar, you better let that go. It’s going to eat away at you until you’re nothin’.” He looks Steve over as he tugs on the end of Steve’s tie. “Well, less than nothin’.”

The night is soundless, but if Steve listens he can hear something: a howl of wind, a whir, a scream. He bites back on the incantation to send this demon back to hell, because he went to every backwoods witch and hoodoo priest in a hundred mile radius to find the ingredients for the spell. He’s here now, at this crossroads a mile away from the dingiest bar in the south, and Steve’s going to do this. 

“I’ll make a deal for it.”

That gets the demon’s attention. His eyes narrow and his lips lift in a delighted smile. “Oh, well, it must be my lucky day. You mind tellin’ me what you’ve got to offer, sweetheart?”

Steve feels his throat grow tight. Bucky used to call him that, but of course the demon knows this, just like he knows what Steve’s gambling with. Not just his life, but—

“My soul.”

The demon’s tongue peeks out to wet his lips. Bucky’s lips. Steve is so mad, he can barely contain it. He wants to scream, to fight, to rage against the war that took Bucky from him, the people who took him. 

“You really want him back that badly, huh? This Bucky of yours. Well I must say,” the demon slides a hand down his body, savouring the touch, “he is a looker. Feels good, too.” 

Steve’s belly roils with a sick feeling. “You’re possessing him?”

The demon laughs. “Bucky’s worm food, honey, six feet under. Even you wouldn’t wanna kiss him.” He crowds in closer to Steve without touching him. “You do though, don’t you? But you’d never tell him. No, you’d rather keep those thoughts to yourself, stare hungrily at him while he walks off with every pretty little dame who comes his way.” Steve’s eyes start to prickle, determinedly looking in the demon’s face instead of anywhere else he’s touching. The demon leans in even closer, his rancid breath hot on Steve’s ear. “You’ve always wanted to know what it’s like to fuck him, haven’t you? Well, now’s your chance, big boy.”

Steve keeps himself very still despite the way his heart beats so hard in his chest it might break through. “Thought we sealed the deal with a kiss?”

“For the little things we do. You know, fame, money, love. But not for something like this.”

The demon leans back to smirk, twisting Bucky’s face into something evil. It sobers Steve up from the haze he’d sunk into just listening to the demon talk in Bucky’s voice. The night was cold five minutes ago, but he doesn’t feel it now; all he feels is the heat from Bucky’s—the demon’s—body, and his heartbeat ratcheting up in speed as the demon turns his head to sniff Steve.

“You want it. I can smell it on you. You want him so bad.”

“Fine,” Steve snaps, taking a step forward.

The demon laughs and takes a step back, another, another as Steve pushes him, hands on the demon’s chest, enjoying the pressure of it until the demon is backed against a tree. His hair flops into his face and his skin is shiny in the lamp light, sweating from the humidity like he’s real, like he’s alive, like Bucky would, and damn it, Steve wants him back so bad it feels like his chest is going to cave in and what’s left of his heart with it. Bucky took it when he left, took it all the way to the Western front and died there with it. And Steve’s going to get him back. 

The demon tugs off his suspenders and Steve goes for his own belt, feeling every bit as determined as he would be if it was Bucky here, the real Bucky, not an imposter, not the thing with Bucky’s face who Steve’s auctioning his soul off to. The demon leans back against the tree as he drops his pants, and Steve’s seen enough of Bucky, drawn him enough, bathed with him enough to know that’s Bucky’s body, his strong thighs, his thick cock that the demon takes in hand as he starts to stroke himself. Steve feels sick, but he can’t deny he’s wanted this for as long as he’s known how to want someone. The war looms, behind him and in front of him and inside him, taking soldiers by the hundreds, just as it did Bucky. Steve will never forgive himself for letting Bucky fight without him. 

“Come on, sugar. You can play out every fantasy you’ve had about him with _me_.” The demon starts to run his hands all over Bucky’s body, and Steve can’t take it anymore. 

“On your knees,” he says, and the demon seems to shiver, biting his lip before he sinks down. He opens his mouth in anticipation, and that’s a sight that Steve never thought he’d see, Bucky waiting for his cock like that; but—it’s not real. Steve has to keep reminding himself. “No.” He gets a sick thrill from the way the demon snaps to attention, bent on his every word. “Turn around.”

“Okay, now we’re talking.” The demon hastens to obey, and he should look ridiculous with his ass out and back bowing as he looks over his shoulder with a pout—but he looks like _Bucky_, and Steve would do anything for Bucky. He’s not going to let Bucky die without him. He’s going to bring Bucky back. 

“Shut up.” Steve sinks into the dirt, fumbling for his cock in the dark, trying to get hard thinking of Bucky for real, like he has so many times before. Back in their apartment, before he shipped off, Steve would always get back from the bars before him when they went out together, and later if they went out separately, but Bucky would end up in Steve’s bed somehow, even when they both got back stinking of sex and too tired to shower anyway, he would get in Steve’s bed like they did when they were kids and Steve would stay at Bucky’s house. Said it helped him sleep better, knowing Steve was there. 

But it meant Steve would feel Bucky’s presence, a wall at his back, making him hard when Bucky slept with an arm across Steve’s shoulders and his nose buried in Steve’s hair, making him feel, in the dead of the night, that maybe Bucky wanted this, too. But only in the dead of the night. 

“I can help with that if you like,” the demon says, taunting him with a laugh in its voice. 

“I said, shut up.” Steve doesn’t look at him, can’t look at him, can only think of this as some sort of betrayal. He strokes himself a couple times without success, before he hears his own name, softly, whispered across the plain of this crossroad, and he stops. 

“Steve,” the demon says, but he’s not laughing or pouting or jeering—he’s got tears in his eyes, he’s pleading. “Please, Steve. I want you to.” He looks so much like Bucky, he could be Bucky, could be any of the times Bucky’s sat him down and told him he can’t let Steve go to war, that he has to protect Steve somehow and he doesn’t know how, _goddamnit, Steve, will you just listen to me?_ “I’ve always wanted this, you know I have. Every time I got into your bed I was thinking about kissing you, holding you, touching you. I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. I’m a coward like that. But you know I want this. You’ve always known.”

Steve takes a long breath and continues to stroke himself, his cock finally starting to get hard as Bucky—the demon—keeps whispering. 

“Please Steve, fill me up, I want this so bad, I need you, please Steve fuck Steve Steve—” and Steve feels between the cleft of Bucky’s ass where he’s already wet, trying not to force himself out of the illusion by thinking about why, just lining up and pushing in. 

Steve feels it immediately, the soft clutch of Bucky’s body enveloping him in warm heat that surges through his whole being. It’s what he imagined fucking Bucky would be like: right, good, mellow, like floating. Like coming home after a long time away. What did he have to fear? This is what matters, this, right now. His toes curl as Bucky squeezes, sending sparks through him, and oh, that’s even better. 

“Fuck, Steve, god, that’s so good.” He’s brought out of his daydream by the brittle laughter of the demon he’s fucking. “Is fucking him everything you thought it’d be? Give it to him, make him feel it.”

Steve laces a hand in the demon’s hair and pulls, a counterpoint to the way he’s fucking him, snapping his hips as hard as he can because if he’s doing this he might as well enjoy it before his asthma takes over. The demon swears and grunts, letting Steve do most of the work. 

“But fuck,” the demon says, as Steve starts to lose himself again, “you give it to him _good_.”

Steve leans over, still holding onto the demon’s hair, to tell him, “If it wasn’t for Bucky, I’d send you back to hell myself.”

The demon flashes Bucky’s crooked teeth in a grin. “Oh, I’ll see you there soon enough.”

Steve ignores the comment and continues to pound into him until he can feel himself get close, and he closes his eyes just to feel the warm body beneath him without distraction, feeling the air hot on his skin, his name on Bucky’s lips, Steve’s stomach tightening before he tips over the edge and spills into him. 

The after effect is immediate: he sobers up, pulling out with a grimace and tucking himself away, the last few minutes stark in his mind as he manages to get to his feet and over to the grass where he chucks up what he ate that day. 

He feels a rush of air as the demon comes up behind him, turning him around and pushing him up against the tree. He doesn’t look like Bucky anymore; his face shifts before Steve’s eyes, his pupils bleeding out until his whole eye is black. Steve feels the fear right down to his bones that this demon could cut him in half without even breaking a sweat, but he’s saved from saying anything by someone calling out his name. 

“Steve?”

Steve’s stomach drops. It’s the only voice he wants to hear, the real voice, the real thing. The demon holds his gaze for another few seconds before he smirks. “I’ll see you in ten years.” He pushes off, whistling as he goes, saying, “I don’t know about you boys, but I could use a drink,” and then he’s gone, and Bucky’s there, god. 

Standing in the middle of the cross road with his uniform half off and missing an arm, Bucky is there. 

Steve rushes over to him, and even the quizzical look on Bucky’s face is outmatched by Steve pulling him in for a hug, Bucky’s hand landing on his head as Steve buried his face in his chest. 

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” Bucky says, sounding deliriously happy, and Steve has to fight back a sob. It’s Bucky, with his eyelashes and hands and smell, it’s Bucky. And what more could Steve ask for?


End file.
